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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26297692">fly straight and do not waver; bend but never break</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoItsBecky_127/pseuds/NoItsBecky_127'>NoItsBecky_127</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxiety, Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Dalish Elves, F/F, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Insecurity, Lesbian Inquisitor, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rogue Inquisitor - Freeform, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, Survivor Guilt, Tags May Change, no beta we die like women</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:01:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,961</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26297692</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoItsBecky_127/pseuds/NoItsBecky_127</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Together we are stronger than the one.</em>
</p><p>Adara Lavellan navigates the world of shemlen as she struggles with her guilt, being expected to represent the Dalish, and dealing with the hole in the sky and the darkspawn that caused it. It’s not easy, but she’ll be damned if that’s enough to stop her.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Female Lavellan &amp; Dorian Pavus, Female Lavellan &amp; Josephine Montilyet, Female Lavellan &amp; Male Lavellan (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan &amp; Solas, Female Lavellan &amp; Varric Tethras, Female Lavellan/Josephine Montilyet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. stood on the cliffside screaming (give me a reason)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Meet Adara Lavellan! This is my first time writing about her, hopefully the first time of many. She has Sumalee Montano's voice, just so y'all know what to imagine. Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In the aftermath of the Conclave and the Inquisition’s formation, Adara has a lot to deal with.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Herald of Andraste.</p><p>That's what they're calling her, these shemlen. When the world went black after she stopped the growth of the Breach, she was hated, thought responsible for the destruction of the Conclave and the death of the Divine. And when she woke three days later...well, all of that was still true for some, but others <em>liked </em>her. Cheered as she walked out, whispered about how <em>that's her, the Herald of Andraste</em>, as if the title's a badge of honor and doesn't make her blood boil.</p><p>Leliana, the Orlesian spymaster, has sent her scouts to the Hinterlands. Supposedly there's a Chantry mother there who the Inquisition could potentially get support from, and from there get more Chantry support. Adara doesn't know how these shemlen politics work, but it sounds reasonable.</p><p>Scouting takes a while, though, particularly with everything going on in the Hinterlands. Rogue mages, rogue templars...not exactly safe, but Leliana seems confident in her scouts' abilities, so Adara's got no reason to doubt them. In any case, until the scouts return with a report, there isn't much to do except to get to know the other members of this new Inquisition, which she doesn't have the energy to do. So she's sitting on a wall, not looking north, because if you don't look north you don't have to see the massive rip in the Veil, and then she doesn't have to start wondering again about what happened, and why it happened, and if maybe she <em>is </em>at fault.</p><p>Instead, she's facing east, and looking down. Down at her left palm, at the glowing green mark responsible for all this. It looks so innocent, so unassuming, like it's meant to be there. Like she didn't use it to <em>seal a rift into the Fade</em>. Like it isn't somehow connected to the fact that Dhavihal is dead, that <em>everyone </em>who was at the Conclave is dead, but she's still alive.</p><p><em>Dhavihal</em>.</p><p>Adara's been trying not to think about him, since the explosion; they've needed her focused. But now they don't, and it's all coming crashing onto her. Dhavihal is <em>dead</em>. Her job, the thing she was <em>specifically </em>sent to the Conclave with him for, was to protect him, and she failed. She might even be responsible for his death. Creators only know what happened, because she <em>can't remember</em>.</p><p>She wonders if the clan has been told. Surely news of the Conclave has spread—but has it spread to the outskirts of the Free Marches, to Clan Lavellan? Do they know the First is dead? Do they know the hunter they sent to guard him is alive, being called a shem’s herald?<br/>
<br/>
Do they wish it were the other way around?</p><p>An Antivan-accented voice breaks through her thoughts. “Mistress Lavellan, may I ask what you’re doing up there?”</p><p>“Oh—hi, Ambassador.” Adara adjusts herself so her body is facing Haven and looks down, seeing the other woman looking up at her. “Just…thinking. Got a lot on my mind.”</p><p>“Understandable.” The ambassador continues, “And is there any reason why your thinking takes place on a wall?”</p><p>She shrugs. “There aren’t a lot of trees around, so I chose the next best thing.”</p><p>”Well, would you care to come down? I have several papers you must sign, and besides, Leliana’s scouts should be returning soon.”</p><p>Adara hops off the wall, landing neatly beside Ambassador Montilyet. “Here I am. What’re the papers about?”</p><p>”Well, you met the rightful owner of Haven earlier, Marquis DuRellion.” Right, that shining example of a shem. “He has reluctantly agreed to allow us to operate here for the time being, but there are some papers that must be signed to finalize it. Since the Inquisition has no leader at the moment, it is assumed that you will be signing them, as the Herald.”</p><p>Okay, so she just needs to write her name on a few papers so the Inquisition doesn’t get driven out like a clan who got too close to shemlen lands. “Alright, I can do that.”</p><p>The ambassador begins walking along the path toward the chantry. "How have you been doing? This has all been a shock for everyone, and I imagine it must be even more so for you."</p><p><em>I might have killed my best friend a few days ago. </em>“I’ve been alright.” <em>And now I’m expected to work with a bunch of shemlen.</em> “I mean, as these things go. Alright is a relative term these days, I guess." <em>You're all branding me as a symbol of your religion whether I like it or not. I don't, if it matters.</em></p><p>“Yes, it certainly is.” The ambassador sighs. “At least you managed to stop the growth of the Breach. Maker only knows what may have happened otherwise.”</p><p>”Yeah.” She doesn’t want to think about that, about what could've happened. If she starts thinking about hypotheticals, she starts wondering if the Conclave could have gone differently, and that train of thought just makes her more miserable than she already is. "This is all one hell of an adjustment, that's for sure."</p><p>They enter the chantry, the silence stretching on until they reach Ambassador Montilyet’s office inside. “It’s nothing unmanageable, simply a few papers,” the other woman says as she hands her a small pile of them. “You can use my desk.”</p><p>She places the pile on the table, separating them at Josephine’s, “Don’t leave them in the pile, the ink will bleed through,” and leans over to begin methodically scrawling her name at the bottom of every sheet that tells her to. <em>Adara Iselan Lavellan. Adara Iselan Lavellan. Adara Iselan Lavellan. </em>She wonders if the marquis even expected her to be able to write. She knows some shemlen, perhaps even most, think her people all uncivilized barbarians, so illiteracy probably fits right into that. Her writing is nothing impressive, but she can definitely do it.</p><p>”There.” She puts down the quill and hands the forms to the ambassador. “All signed.”</p><p>She quickly looks through them. “Good. I should go have these sent off to the marquis. Feel free to remain here if you wish.” The ambassador leaves.</p><p>Adara doesn’t really have any particular desire to stay in the office, but she <em>is</em> already here, and she’s getting used to the discomfort of being in a chantry. She plops herself down on the desk, taking pleasure in how not allowed it probably is. Her own quiet rebellion, since she has to cooperate with all these humans to deal with the Breach.</p><p><em>The Herald of Andraste</em>. What a load of bullshit. Even if Andraste were anything more than a dead shem from centuries ago, she wouldn't have been stupid enough to choose <em>Adara </em>as her herald. She doesn't know why she's alive instead of anyone else, instead of Dhavihal, but it isn't because of some Andrastian chosen-one nonsense. She knows that much.</p><p>Of course, none of these humans seem to agree. They call a Dalish elf Andraste’s herald because they’ve got no evidence she isn’t, and they don’t bother to ask her if—</p><p>“Hello, Mistress Lavellan.” Ambassador Montilyet’s back. <em>Creators</em>, she hates being called Mistress. “You don’t have very…conventional sitting habits, do you?”</p><p>Adara shrugs. “Among other things. So the papers are on their way?”</p><p>“Indeed they are,” the ambassador says, sitting down in a chair by the door. “The scouts have yet to return. In the meantime, there's something else I should inform you of."</p><p>"Do tell, Ambassador."</p><p>"The Inquisition has received a letter," she explains, "from your clan."</p><p>It should make her happy. She should be smiling, asking to hear more. The words shouldn't make her blood run cold and her heart pound in her chest, but they do, because <em>they know</em>. If the clan knows she's here, and they must because why else would they have sent a letter, then they know what happened. They know they sent one of the most valuable members of the clan to spy on the Conclave, and a hunter to ensure no harm came to him, and instead she failed—worse than failed, really. Got him killed and the whole conclave with it. Maybe they don't even want her back.</p><p>"Mistress Lavellan? Are you all right?"</p><p>Adara swallows and nods. "Yeah. Of course. So, what's it say?"</p><p>"They seem to think the Inquisition is holding you captive," Ambassador Montilyet replies. "Your Keeper wishes to know if you have committed a crime, or if you are here of your own free will."</p><p>"Makes sense," Adara hums. "I'm guessing they want me returned?"</p><p>"It was not outright stated, but that did seem to be the implication," she confirms. <em>Guess when you lose the First, you can't afford to just go kicking anyone out of the clan</em>.<em><br/>
</em></p><p>"The feeling's mutual," she admits. "I'd go back now, if I wasn't needed here."</p><p>"I'm sure many here feel the same about their own lives." The ambassador sighs. "I would be lying if I said I did not. Though I suppose it is different for you."</p><p>"You don't say." Because for some reason, there's a mark on her hand that seals Fade rifts, and that makes her useful. It's more power at her fingertips than someone like her ought to have, but she has it.</p><p>Neither one says anything for a couple of minutes, until, "Ambassador?" An elven servant (it makes Adara sick to see them) pokes his head through the doorway. "Oh—and Herald, as well. The Spymaster's scouts have returned from the Hinterlands. Both of you are wanted in the War Room." He leaves.</p><p>"I'll meet you in there," she says to Ambassador Montilyet. "I need a moment."</p><p>"Very well, Mistress Lavellan." The other woman gets up to leave.</p><p>"Adara."</p><p>The ambassador turns back to face her. "Pardon?"</p><p>"I'm not Herald, or <em>Mistress </em>anything," she continues. "My name's Adara. I'd appreciate it being used."</p><p>"Well...all right, I can call you that if you wish." Ambassador Montilyet pauses. "You may call me Josephine, then, if you like."</p><p><em>Josephine</em>. A nice name, albeit an irritatingly Orlesian one. "I can do that...Josephine."</p><p>"Wonderful." The ambassador—Josephine—smiles. "Don't take too long—Leliana is not a patient woman." She leaves.</p><p>Whatever the explosion at the Conclave was, it left few corpses, if any. For Andrastians, that's no issue—burning bodies is already what they do—but not for her people. Dhavihal will receive no proper burial, no vallasdahlen. But she can say the prayer for the Creators to guide him to the Beyond.</p><p>Adara takes a shaky breath and begins to speak quietly. “O Falon’Din, Lethanavir,” how ridiculous is this, a prayer for a man whose corpse is burnt like an Andrastian’s, said by his friend who may be responsible for his death, “Friend to the Dead.” Her voice cracks on <em>dead</em>, because it hurts to admit that that’s what Dhavihal is. And yet she’s still alive.</p><p>”Guide my feet, calm my soul.”</p><p>She doesn’t know why she’s still alive, out of everyone there, everyone who could have this role. She doesn’t know how this happened, who did it, why they did it. And she certainly doesn’t know how to deal with shemlen and their politics. But she does know one thing.</p><p>“Lead me to my rest.”</p><p>He should be the one sitting here.</p><p>Adara pushes herself off the desk, swallows down the lump in her throat, and leaves Josephine’s office.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. rough on the surface, but you cut through like a knife</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After making some new allies in Val Royeaux, Adara has some conversations at Haven.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>To finish off 2020, I finally updated this fanfic. This chapter might be sub-par; it’s mostly just a bridge between the introduction and the beginning of IHW, where things will really start happening. Regardless, enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So this is it, huh?”</p><p>Adara arches a brow at Sera, one of the new recruits, the first stop on her get-to-know-some-more-people mission. The Red Jenny who seems to have taken up residence in the makeshift tavern at Haven. Who’s an elf, yet one of the first things out of her mouth was ‘hope you’re not too elfy.’ And who she can already tell she’ll be butting heads with.</p><p>“Oh, no, it’s fine, yeah? It’s just…I thought it’d be bigger.” Sera snickers. “That would’ve been <em> hilarious </em>if you were a man, right? Wasted. Anyway, stopping wars and killing demons should earn more sovereigns than this. Need things back to normal for coins to be flowing again.”</p><p><em> Back to normal.</em> Sera keeps saying that’s what she wants. Something the two of them have in common, then. But only one of them can ever get back to her normal.</p><p>“Another reason the templars and mages need to be sat down,” Sera continues with a scoff.</p><p>Adara shrugs. “Pretty sure that was the point of the Conclave. But it’s not just about those two anymore.”</p><p>The younger elf rolls her eyes. “Well, sure, the sky has a hole in it. But I can’t put an arrow in that. I mean, I can, but it doesn’t come down. That’s friggin’ weird.”</p><p>“Can’t argue with you on that one.” She’s definitely had more exposure to magic than Sera has, and even she thinks this is weird as hell.</p><p>“And that’s the point, right? It’s weird, and <em> right there</em>. But they still wanna punch each other. They’re too busy to look up where the real questions are.”</p><p>Now, there’s something they can agree on. “And that’s where we come in. That’s our job—to guide all these people back from the brink.”</p><p>Sera’s ear twitches. “The religious ones tell you that?”</p><p>“<em>Hell </em> no.” Adara shudders. “I don’t listen to anything the Chantry folk tell me. In one ear they wish were smaller, out the other.”</p><p>“Right,” Sera says, slowly, face clouding over. “Guess you’d be more into that elfy stuff.”</p><p>“I mean…” She shrugs. “Yeah. I’m Dalish. I worship the elven gods. Is that going to be an issue?” Adara can’t kick out everyone who looks down on her gods—<em> Some of them outrank me, </em>she thinks, like Cassandra, completely clueless as to why she can’t just add the Maker to her pantheon. But still, if someone outright disrespects them, that won’t fly.</p><p>“Nah, it’s all good, innit? You’re cool, even if you are elfy.” Before she can ask what the hell that’s supposed to mean, Sera’s continuing, “Anyways, the way I’m seeing it, believing too hard is what got us all here. And here’s stupid, and smells like horses.” Shit, she needs to get in touch with the horse guy. Dennis, right? “What everyone needs is to get everything back to normal, and proper, and profitable. Sound good to you, all touched Lady Herald?”</p><p>She shifts in her seat. “I’m definitely ready to give it a shot. I suppose that’s all I can ask from anyone else.” There can’t be any definite promises, not when there’s a hole in the sky.</p><p>Sera grins. “I’m in. It’s an investment, yeah? Better pay off, too. Stupid war, and stupid everything else. I had things to do!”</p><p><em> You had things to do? I had a best friend.</em> <em>Ugh, no, it’s not a competition, Adara. Everyone’s gotten fucked over by all this. </em> “I should get going. Good talking to you.”</p><p>“See you around, Herald.” The blonde snorts. “‘Herald.’ Got to do something about that.”</p><hr/><p>Vivienne, she encounters within Haven’s chantry, on the way to hand Josephine the letter to send back to her clan. The Court Enchanter seems like she’ll be a powerful ally to have, but so far she’s also appearing to be a terrifying one.</p><p>“I met an elven mage earlier,” Vivienne says, and Adara stops walking. No sense in ignoring a new ally. “Solas, I believe he was called.” Right, that piece of work. <em> The Dalish are children, acting out stories</em>. Well, fuck you too. Not everyone just casually ventures into the Fade. Where’s an elven apostate learn that sort of haughtiness, anyway? It can be found amongst Dalish elves on occasion, but he’s certainly not one of them.</p><p>“I admit, I was surprised,” she continues. “I didn’t expect to find mages among the Inquisition.”</p><p><em> You wouldn’t expect a Dalish hunter, either. But here we are</em>.</p><p>“Tell me, why were you at the Divine Conclave?”</p><p>Adara leans against a pillar. “Someone has to get information on what happens there to bring back to the clan. The Dalish live in this world, too. The chaos of the war harms us, just as it does any human or city elf. No one benefits from continued war, not even the rebel mages.”</p><p>“If only they could see that,” Vivienne agrees. “Justinia’s death has shattered the balance of power in Thedas. If it is not restored quickly, countless more lives will be lost. Everyone looks to the Inquisition to decide their fate now, be them mages, templars, or uninvolved innocents.”</p><p>And how do you respond to <em> that? </em> “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure I don’t let them down.”</p><p>“Failure is a luxury we cannot afford, my dear,” the mage says simply. “For almost a thousand years, the world believed it was in the hands of the Maker. And now many believe you to be the agent of His will.”</p><p>“I’m <em> not </em>,” Adara snaps. “I don’t worship your Maker, and I definitely don’t speak for him.”</p><p>“The point isn’t whether it is true or not, darling,” Vivienne responds smoothly. “The point is that that belief gives you power.”</p><p>“Then I’ll put it to good use,” she counters. “Make changes. Creators know my people could use some.”</p><p>“I suppose we’ll see. Well, I’ve stolen enough of your time, my dear. Don’t let me keep you.”</p><p><em> Don’t have to tell me twice. </em>Not much against Vivienne in particular, but she’d prefer to minimize her time speaking with humans, particularly the wealthy ones.</p><p>Adara continues her intended path to Josephine’s office. “Here,” she says, handing her the rolled-up parchment. “A letter, for my clan. Send it with your messengers whenever they leave.”</p><p>“Of course.” The ambassador takes the letter. “While I have you, Adara,” and <em> Creators, </em>it is weird to hear a human saying her name with respect, “I would like to speak with you.”</p><p>She feels her ears perk up, and why are they perking up? She isn’t interested in talking to the ambassador. “Oh? Do tell.”</p><p>“Well—I would like to know if anyone here has treated you unkindly, Adara. For being an elf,” she clarifies.</p><p>“Of course they have, I’m a Dalish elf surrounded by Andrastians,” she deadpans. “It’s nothing I can’t handle, though.” She’s encountered shemlen before with her clan, and dealt with worse from them than snide remarks and sideways glances. She sits herself down on Josephine’s desk, angling herself so she can comfortably look at the human.</p><p>Josephine <em> tsk</em>s, probably from what she said, but it might be about suddenly having an elf on her desk. “I shall speak with the staff regarding such conduct. If we’re to convince the world that Andraste’s Herald is an elf, the Inquisition must give you its utmost support.” Adara is about to protest that she’s <em> not </em>the Herald, damn it, when Josephine continues, “Stories of ‘wild Dalish elves’ have only grown more outrageous as people learn of you,” and then she has a higher priority.</p><p>“How so?” Adara asks.</p><p>“I would...prefer not to repeat what I have heard.”</p><p>“Give me <em> something</em>.”</p><p>Josephine sighs. “Stealing children, selling peasants to slavers, burning down villages, using human infants for blood magic, drinking the blood of human children…”</p><p>“Shemlen have been saying that for generations,” she cuts in. They seem obsessed with the idea that the Dalish want their blood. “Tell me what’s changed. What are they saying about me?”</p><p>“Those, I will not repeat,” the ambassador says firmly.</p><p>“Fine. I guess it doesn’t matter, anyway.” Adara sighs. “What matters isn’t what they’re saying—it’s that they believe it. And the humans who believe that shit are always the first to take a knife to anyone with pointed ears.”</p><p>
  <em> I’ll never make it back, da’len. </em>
</p><p>Adara shakes her head, clearing her mind of the memory. “My clan’s defended ourselves against them more times than I can count.”</p><p>“Really?” Josephine looks disturbed. “I...had no idea. I will do what I can to end the slander, Adara.” Now <em> that’s </em>one hell of a project. “It may help for me to know more about how you and your clan lived.”</p><p>A broad question. Adara could probably spend hours talking about that, if she wanted to. But she’s busy, and Josephine’s busy, so she says, “We did it by working hard. Some days, we were up before dawn to fish. There’s always someone mending or reinforcing a tent or wagon. And sometimes, the other hunters and I have spent days straight on the hunt.” She shakes her head. “Meanwhile, you city-dwellers can just get food delivered right to your doorstep if you want.”</p><p>Josephine’s eyebrows lift. “Really? I never considered it extraordinary.”</p><p>“I do.” Adara shrugs, crossing one leg over the other. “But I wouldn’t have traded it for anything. The best part was always when the aravel—those are our wagons—turned from the plains into the woods. I used to spend weeks exploring the forest whenever we set up camp someplace new.” <em> We, not I. </em> But saying <em> we </em>will start a conversation she doesn’t know if she can stand to have.</p><p>“You make it sound idyllic,” the ambassador comments. “I am sorry, you must miss your clan.”</p><p>“I…do,” Adara admits. “Before the Conclave, the clan was my whole world, pretty much. Everyone I cared about, everyone who cared about me, they were Lavellans.” She sighs. “I’d like to see them again, when this is done. If I can.” Creators, she hopes she can. She misses them. Misses being chided for acting without thinking, misses making herself comfy in a tree and searching for interesting things going on in camp, misses the inside jokes and the easy conversation and just feeling like she <em> belonged</em>.</p><p>She misses Dhavihal most of all.</p><p>It’s still hard to believe he’s gone. Eighteen years he’d been by her side, her best friend, her <em> brother, </em>and now he’s dead. But she’s still here, left to pick up the pieces of a broken world and her broken heart.</p><p>“Adara?” Josephine’s voice breaks through the barrier of her thoughts. “Are you all right?”</p><p><em> Pull yourself together.</em> “Yeah. I’m fine. What were you saying?”</p><p>“That whatever comes, your role as Andraste’s Herald,” still an inaccurate title, “will mark your clan in history.”</p><p>Now, that’s something. Clan Lavellan, marked in history. But whether it’s a good something, that remains to be seen. “It’d be nice, for elves to not get swept under the rug for once. I just hope my clan doesn’t suffer for it.” There aren’t a lot of elves in history—the only one she can think of off the top of her head is the Hero of Ferelden, Warden-Commander Tabris—and those who <em> are </em>featured in history tend to pay the price for it, one way or another.</p><p>Josephine frowns. “That is indeed worrying. We can make inquiries as to how they fare. Perhaps the Inquisition could lend a hand if needed.”</p><p>Adara feels herself smile. “That would be good. Anyhow, I should get going.” She hops off the desk and starts walking out the door. “Letter. Send it. Bye!”</p><p>She’s <em> weird </em> around Josephine. Nice. Friendly. <em> Different</em>. She says more than she does around other humans, and some of it is even <em> pleasant</em>. She’s losing it, isn’t she?</p><p>Must be from spending so much time around shemlen lately.</p><p>Whatever. It doesn’t matter, anyway—what matters is that she’s got a couple of people she’s supposed to talk to—Warden Blackwall in the Hinterlands, who might have information on their disappearance, and this so-called Iron Bull, offering his mercenary group as assistance for the Inquisition. And once that’s done, she’s got to gather some Inquisition members and head to Redcliffe. Grand Enchanter Fiona offered the rebel mages as allies, and Adara isn’t quite stupid enough to turn that down.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>By the way, here’s some pics of Adara!</p><p>https://noitsbecky127.tumblr.com/post/638612260938547200/i-took-a-bunch-of-screenshots-of-my-canon</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please leave a comment, I crave validation. Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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